The Forgotten Rebellion
by DaughterofZeusRules
Summary: In the 34th Hunger games, a rebellion was taking place. Will Betony join the fight for freedom?
1. Prologue

**Hey Guys! I've decided to rewrite this, as I looked back on it one day and realised how awful it was. Hence the long delay in reviewing. Hopefully i will be able to update this more often now :) Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this new and improved version of The Forgotten Rebellion!  
**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own the world of The Hunger Games, and any characters from The Hunger games trilogy, because they belong to Suzanne Collins.**

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PART 1 – The reaping

Prologue

I am running, running away as fast as I can. There is nothing else I can do, and it is better than the alternative. All other skills have fled me, fighting, hiding, surviving. All I have left is running. I speed across the ground, desperately trying to get away, like a wounded animal, running for my life. Running is my only defence, my last stand against those who follow. And even that is failing me. I can hear my pursuers gaining on me, and try to speed up, but my legs are sinking, sinking in to the earth, I can't move, I'm going to die, they're going to kill me and there's nothing I can do, the footsteps are getting louder and louder, echoing inside my head, and there is breath on my shoulders, but still I run, I feel a blade on the back of my neck, and I turn knowing it's the end, knowing it's all over, powerless in the face of death. I see the dark figure blotting out the light from the sun bring his knife down…

And then my father is shaking me awake, bringing me out of the nightmare, and back into the real world.

Which is a nightmare in itself.

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_Reviews are always appreciated :)_


	2. Chapter 1

**Revised Version of chapter one here! I hope it will be better this time!**

* * *

I sit up, bleary eyed. My father is looking at me, a furious expression on his face. "Shut up girl!" he whispers loudly. "You'll wake everyone up."

"Sorry," I mumble, rubbing a hand across my eyes, trying to wake myself up. That dream was the most vivid I've had in a long time, if it actually made me make a noise. I learnt early on that disturbing my father is rarely a good idea. He's still glaring at me. "I'm going back to sleep. But seeing as you're up, why don't you make yourself useful."

I sigh inaudibly. That's right, my father is going back to bed, and I have to get up while it was still dark outside and do the chores. Snoring from the other side of the room tells me that he's already asleep.

My eyes travel round the room while I try to calm my still racing heart. They skim over the familiar shapes of my parents' bed, the shelves on the walls, the kitchen door, slightly open, my sleeping brother, Tom, on the mattress next to me. It would take a nuclear attack to wake him up before sunrise.

I am regularly up this early, sorting out breakfast, cleaning the house, and generally doing everything my mother should do, but my father has decided that I am more worthy of doing the work. He obviously favours Tom, because he's a boy, because he's popular, because he's good at sport, because he's everything that I'm not. I'm just the little girl who has no friends because she's too scared to talk to people, the girl who gets good marks because she has nothing better to do at school, the girl who was never wanted.

But I can't just sit here contemplating my life. I have work to do.

I get up silently, creeping across the room. My brother stirs and I stop, in the centre of the room, hoping he hasn't woken up. But he turns over and falls asleep again. I give a small sigh of relief and continue on my journey across the room.

I reach the doorway and pause, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. I begin to make out the dim shape of the kitchen table, and my eyes quickly focus. I sneak out of the house, inching open the kitchen door so that it won't creak.

The sun is just slipping over the horizon, making the buildings pink. I allow myself a few moments to stand in the light, before reluctantly going back into the gloomy house.

I start by cleaning the kitchen, as everything gets very dusty due to all of the fabric fibres. Most people in our district end up with breathing problems due to working in the factory breathing all of the tiny fibres in, and because of the permanent smog that surrounds us after being belched out of the chimneys of the factories. I find an old sock, but in the dark I can't tell whose it is. I toss it onto the washing pile, which is more like a mountain, so that I can take it to the stream later.

It's up to me to get breakfast, but there's hardly anything to eat. There are only three stale tesserae grain rolls, some tessera that has been cooked down, and a tiny scraping of jam I made from the berries that grow down by the district fence. None of it tastes nice, but it's all we've got.

The tesserae slop sits in a bowl, looking particularly unappetising, so I add the jam to it, in the hope that I won't be left to eat it, but knowing that I will be. Everyone else in the house is starting to wake up now, as the pink light outside turns to gold.

Tom walks into the room, grabs a roll, and then walks out of the house without looking at me. Probably off to meet up with his friends while I do all the work. My mother walks in, stares at the food, and then takes one of the other rolls back into the other room. Now only my father is left. I stare at the food longingly as my stomach growls, but I know better than to eat anything. Everyone else gets first pick in our house, that's how it works.

After around half an hour my father finally comes in. He glares at the solitary remaining roll and scowls. "Is this it?" he growls. I nod. "Have you eaten anything?" he demands. I quickly shake my head. He stares at me suspiciously, and then grabs the roll. "Make sure you do the washing," he snarls, before stalking out.

My heart is thumping so loudly I can't hear anything else. I desperately try to calm down, taking huge gulping breaths. He shouldn't have this effect on me, he's my father, but he's hit me enough times for me to be wary of him.

I stare at the slop sat on the table, wondering whether to try to eat it. My stomach makes the decision for me, by growling loudly, and trying to twist itself into knots.

Even with the jam, the slop still tastes vile. I force it down, hating each mouthful, knowing I won't get any lunch, and dinner is looking unlikely too. When the bowl is empty I scrape it out mournfully, my stomach still growling. Oh well, I'm used to going hungry.

I stacked the various empty dishes lying around the kitchen, and head out towards the stream. There are other women sat at the pool, washing clothes and dishes, but they ignore me.

There are berries by the stream, so I fill a bowl with them for tonight. We are supposed to celebrate after the reaping, and have a special dinner, but the reaping falls just before we get the tesserae, so we are lucky to have a meal at all that night. At least there will be something to eat tonight, if we don't get reaped. It's my first reaping, so I can finally sign up for tesserae. Tom takes four allowances of tesserae, and now I have done the same, so, hopefully, we should have enough to eat in the future.

After carrying the dishes back to the house I gather the pile of washing and walk back down to the stream. The other women have gone now, back to their houses and families, so I am left to daydream as the clothes soak. The water in this part of the stream is slow moving, and permanently soapy from the amount of washing that happens here. It's dirty and polluted, but it's the only reliable water source around here. It tastes vile, and is probably very bad for us, but there's nothing else to drink, except in winter, when we can melt the snow and drink that. Other times we just have to risk the stream, and hope not to get too ill.

Most of the clothes are clean now, but there is a shirt of Tom's with a particularly stubborn patch of mud on that I have to scrub for several minutes, and a pair of my father's trousers with an alcoholic smelling stain on them. That's the thing about my father, we would have had enough money to live in relative comfort, buying our food from the shops, and being able to afford decent clothes, but he spends it all on drink, and complains when there's none left, so I don't dare buy food with his "hard earned cash." He still often suspects me though, lashing out when he's had too much to drink, and has no money left for more.

The stain won't come off. I'd need serious chemicals to remove this, and obviously we can't afford them, so I scrub it the best I can and hope for the best. Maybe he won't shout at me too badly this time.

I head back to our house and hang the clothes out in the sun before heading back inside. There's the bedroom to sort out: beds to make; clothes to fold; all of the mundane, boring tasks. My mother is still sat on her bed, staring at the wall, but I shake her, and she feebly wanders out of the room. She's been like this ever since I can remember, so I have to do everything. What did I do to deserve this?

Ten o'clock. I have to get ready for the reaping at eleven. We are supposed to dress up, so when I get back I pull on a blue dress, made of various patches of different leftover fabrics from a factory that closed down. It has faded slightly in the wash, but it will do. I pin some blue flowers from the garden into my hair to make myself seem more presentable, and then wait for my family to appear.

My mother wanders in a couple of minutes later, and I hand her a skirt and a fresh blouse, which she stares at for a few moments, then puts on. Tom arrives at around half past, and puts of the fresh shirt I hold out. He doesn't bother speaking to me.

Then we wait anxiously for my father to arrive. Trust him to be late today. It's ten to, and there's still no sign. Five to, we're going to be late. At Eleven o'clock he strolls in nonchalantly, and we rush him out of the house.

We arrive at the main square with seconds to spare. I am ushered towards the other twelve year olds by a peace keeper, who is glaring at me for being late. I turn around to try and catch a glimpse of Tom, but he has been swallowed by the crowd.

Jae Kukahiko walks onto the stage. He's the one who will pick the names of the two unfortunate people who will be sent to the capitol, and then he will escort them there. He launches into some babbling speech, in which he treats the crowd like they had the maturity level of a five year old. There are no recent victors for district eight, and after the mayor has read out the boring statement about why we have the hunger games, it is finally time for the name drawing. Jae reaches his hand into the boys' ball and pulls out a name.

It's Oliver Cartmell. I don't know much about him. His family is just as poor as anyone else's, and he's a couple of years older than me. He takes his place on the stage, staring off into the distance. I breathe a sigh of relief. At least Tom is safe for another year. Even if he's horrible to me, he's still my brother, and I don't want to watch him fight to the death.

Jae reaches a hand into the girls' ball, and I stare at it, knowing five of the slips of paper have my name on them. Once because I have to, and once for each tessera I take. He pulls out a name and reads it out. Time seems to slow down, as if everything was under water. Everyone around me turns, searching for the person whose name it is. As the name sinks in, their eyes all lock on one person.

The name is Betony Hughes. And that's me.


	3. Chapter 2

**Hi Everyone, here's the revised version of chapter _2_**_  
_**  
**

_But oh, if there's one thing that we know_  
_It's that we will not grow old_

_Lenka – we will not grow old_

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Time seems to freeze at that moment, as every person in the crowd turns to face me. They all stare as my brain tries to make sense of what has just happened. My mind can't process the words that he has just said. Me? But… my name was only five times in that bowl of hundreds. It shouldn't have been me. It couldn't be me. But my feet are moving of their own accord, and I am shuffling towards the platform, which now looks like a gallows. I stumble up the steps, cursing my clumsiness, and nearly trip over mid-air. I stand on the platform, waiting for the call of, "any volunteers?" I strain my ears, hoping to hear someone call out, someone who will take my place, someone to rescue me from this nightmare.

But the square is silent. Tom is staring at me with something like regret in his eyes, but that's probably just my imagination. He never liked me.

The wind rustles through tree branches. Birds sing. No one moves. I am being sent to my death, and nobody is stopping it. Of course they aren't. Not one person is able or willing to take my place.

I keep a blank expression as I shake hands with Oliver and the anthem plays, but inside my mind is racing. My thoughts have finally caught up with what is happening. There is no way I am going to get out of this alive. Only one person out of twenty four tributes survives, and it won't be me. The tributes from district eight are always weak and underfed, prey to be picked off before the true games begin. How do I stand a chance against people so much older than me? How do I stand a chance against those who were bigger, stronger, and better fed than me? How do I stand a chance against those who had been training for this moment their entire lives?

Then the ceremony is over, and we are rushed into the justice building, as people watch us leave.

And so I begin the journey to my death.

* * *

This is the moment I have been dreading. This was our hour to say goodbye to our friends and family. Most people say an hour is not long enough, that parting is such sweet sorrow, and that it takes time to let them go. Of course, that is the victors' point of view. We never hear the other side of story.

But I can't wait for this to be over. Prolonging the inevitable is just dragging out my pain. I don't want them to see me defeated. I don't want them to see the light leave my eyes as I try to find a way out. I don't want them to see me die on a screen, while heartless people trade money over my passing.

I don't want them to see me helpless.

* * *

I am sat in a cold white room, without any colour, not even flowers. The door opens, and my family walks in. My father looks furious, more so than I have ever seen him. Most people would presume that he's angry that I have been chosen, that I will die, but I know better.

"You stupid bitch!"

He grabs me by the shoulders, and I'm being shaken harder than I've ever been.  
"Who's going to clean now? Who's going to do my chores now? Why did you have to get picked?"

I'm tired of this. I'm tired of being yelled at and picked on and beaten up. I don't have to put up with this anymore.  
"I didn't exactly want to get chosen for a competition where I'm probably going to die," I say sarcastically. There is a surprised pause, and then a fist is swinging towards my face. It impacts with a loud smack. It sends me reeling across the room, and I know I'll have a bruise the size of Panem across my face.

"Don't talk to me like that! I'm your father."  
"Yeah, a father who beats me up and shouts at me when you should be supporting me. You don't care if I die in this thing. You've never cared about me. I've always just been some serving girl to you. You never cared when you spent all of our money on drink and I went hungry to make sure everyone else had a meal. You never cared when I passed out due to hunger and starvation. You never cared when you broke my bones and left bruises across my face. You never cared. So why don't you leave right now, before I call in the Peacekeepers and get you arrested."

He stares at me, breathing heavily, then turns and walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

I sigh deeply. "You may as well leave too," I tell Tom and my mother. "I know you don't want to be here."  
Turning away, I try to hide my tears. I try to pretend I don't care that my family hates me, but it still hurts.

Which is why I am surprised when there is a hand on my arm. "I do care you know," Tom says softly. "I always did. But I was scared, I mean, he seemed to like me, so I thought if I stayed on his good side then I could deflect some of his anger. I tried to draw his attention away from you, so he wouldn't hurt you." He hugs me tightly. "I'm sorry I couldn't be the big brother that I wanted to be."

I let my tears fall, cascading down my cheeks as I hug my brother for the first time. "You're going to be great," he whispers. "Just do your best; we'll be supporting you." He avoids mentioning that I will die. It's inevitable.

He squeezes me one last time, before releasing me, and stepping back. Collapsing shakily onto the couch beside me, I let out a shuddering breath. No one has ever cared about me before. No one's ever hugged me before.

My mother sits on the couch beside me. She looks more focussed than she normally does, less distant.  
"I'm sorry," she says simply, and I start crying again. She opens her arms, and I fall into them without hesitation, despite the fact that she's never hugged me before, despite the fact that she barely even speaks to me normally. I cry uncontrollably into her shoulder. "I don't want to die!" I sob. She just holds me, and waits for me to recover.

When I do she smiles at me. "You're not going to die," she tells me firmly. I start to protest, but she shushes me. "You can do this. But even if you were going to die, then you still have weeks of preparation in the land of luxury. So you go there, you eat as much of their food as you can, you wear as many pretty dresses as possible, and then you win that thing, and come home to tell me all about it, ok?"

I smile tearfully at her, and she smiles fondly back. "I never wanted it to be this way. Your father… he seemed so nice when I first met him, he was so charming, and I fell in love with him so easily, and I thought he loved me too. But then he started drinking, and well… But then I had Tom, and he seemed to come back to me a little, and I thought maybe, if I had more children, he might control himself, but then you were a girl… I always wanted a little girl, but he didn't. And everything fell apart." She's crying too now, weeping into my shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

"It's ok," I reassure her. "Everything's going to be fine now." I'm lying and we both know it. He's going to be worse than usual tonight, and I won't be there to be his punching bag, so who knows who he'll turn on. Probably mum, but she'll still go home to him. And we both know I won't survive this tournament, no matter what she says. But for now we will pretend everything is fine, because that's what we always do. We pretend, and cover up, and act like everything's normal, and I'm just a bit clumsy.

The Peacekeeper's knocking on the door, telling us our time is up. I hug Tom, and then hug my mother extra hard. "I'll try and win this for you," I tell them. "Then we can move to victor's village and leave him behind."

They smile at me, tell me I'm going to be great, and then they're gone. _'Gone forever,'_ a voice in my head tells me, but I ignore it.

There's no one else to come; I have no friends. So I sit and think about my family, who, as it turns out, weren't so bad after all.


	4. Chapter 3

When the hour ends a Peacekeeper comes to take me to the train station. I am led into a car which will take me there. I've never been in a car before. It's strange, I can feel the engine rumbling beneath me, but there is no noise. The smooth motion and rumbling engine quickly make me feel sick; so I lean back and close my eyes, hoping it will pass.

Thankfully we soon arrive at the train station. There are hundreds of reporters and photographers waiting, and I suddenly remember that I have been crying, and wonder whether I should do anything about it. I decide against it. Let them think of it as a strategy, if I don't try and hide it. I pull down a mirror from the roof of the car, and realise with a jolt that the bruise is already forming on my cheek. Already half of my face has turned purple, and it seems to be spreading. The Peacekeeper looks at me sharply, and I shrug. There's nothing I can do about it now.

Stepping out of the car, I am instantly blinded by the flash of cameras. I look around nervously, before waving at a few of them, which sets off another wave of flashes, then make my way confidently towards the train. Inside I am shaking, but they don't need to know that. My way is lined with railings, and there are more cameras and reporters lining my route, pressing against the barriers, shouting questions and snapping more photos. I say nothing, but wave merrily at as many cameras as possible.

When I reach the train I turn, as is required, and stand for a few minutes to face the cameras, all the while smiling and waving. By tomorrow these pictures will be spread across the Capitol, on posters, in newspapers and in commercials. I am an instant celebrity.

After a while I walk into the train, and the door seals behind me. _'Goodbye, district eight,'_ I think, with barely a twinge of regret, then turn, and make my way down the carriage.

* * *

The first couple of doors I come to are blank and closed. I walk past them, not wanting to disturb anyone. Eventually I come to a door that says _Oliver, _then one further down the corridor that says _Betony. _My name is on a plaque. It's scary how quickly they prepare for us. It's like they know who is going to get chosen in advance. I push away that thought, and step into my room.

My first impression is of its size. You could easily fit our entire house in here, probably twice, and this is just one room. There is a large bed, a huge chest of drawers filled with beautiful clothes, and a door which leads to a bathroom, with a shower and a bath. And it's all for me. I squeal in delight, before flopping down on the bed. It's the softest thing I've ever felt.

I pull open the drawers, and search for something to wear. There's loads of choice, compared to my faded and patched clothes from home. Even the plainest things are far grander than my best dress, which I'm wearing. I pull out a long white skirt and a pale green top, and pull them on. Everything fits perfectly, and I even find soft white leather shoes under the dresser which are my size. I've never had clothes that fit me properly before, and I revel in the luxury, before pausing. Just how did they know my exact size? They seem to know everything about me, and the reaping was only just over an hour ago.

I push away these thoughts before I freak myself out completely, and decide to explore. I push the door of my room open, and step into the corridor. I wander for a while, and discover a small library, and a games room. I shake my head. We're only going to be on this train for a day, and they think we're going to have time to get bored? Most of the time will be spent asleep, as we're travelling overnight.

I carry on down the train, and walk into what is apparently the dining carriage. There is a large table set for three, which is laden with food. Jae was already seated at the table. "Hey there Betony," he exclaimed when he saw me. "I was just about to send someone for you, lunch is ready."

I sit down gingerly, staring at all of the food. I'd heard stories about Capitol food, but was this really all for us? Oliver comes in, also in fresh clothes, evidently having been summoned. We sit at the table, then waiters come out and place steaming bowls of soup in front of us. It's thick and green, and smells like fresh vegetables, and it's more than I've ever had at one meal in my life. But I refrain from gulping it down, and try to choose the correct spoon. There are several sets of cutlery, so I just go for the outside one, and am surprised when I am rewarded with a smile from Jae. I must have gotten it right. I sip the soup slowly, trying not to overload my growling stomach.

When the soup is finished I am feeling pleasantly full, something I haven't felt in a long time, but then we are given fresh plates and told to help ourselves from the mounds of sandwiches, and other things I cannot identify. Oliver is also looking stunned at the amount of food. I choose carefully, making sure nothing is too rich, otherwise I'll be ill. I bite into the first sandwich, which has a pink filling, and recognise the taste of fish, from one I caught once. Before now, that was the best meal I had ever eaten. But this overshadows even my wildest daydreams. I watch Jae carefully, noting how he eats his food, and then copying him, so I don't do something wrong. Soon I learn what cheese scones are, and am eating my first one as the flavours explode on my tongue. It's delicious.

The servers take our plates away, and I am almost bursting, but am suddenly very thirsty. I glance at the drink they have provided me with. It's orange, and looks quite thick. "That's orange juice," Jae tells me. I have no idea what an orange is, but I pick it up and sip it. It's as delicious as all of the other food.

While I drink the sandwiches and scones are replaced by towers of cakes and pastries, which I have only ever seen before when staring longingly into the bakery window, before being shooed off. I choose something small, knowing I will be ill otherwise, but Oliver seems to have no such reservations, reaching for the richest cream cakes. He's going to be so ill later.

Finally we're done with lunch, and I leave to go back to my room. I grab a glass of ice cold water, which is actually clear, not dirty like all of the water I've seen, and wander down the corridor. I stop at the library, and pick up a book, which looks brand new, before heading back to my room. I sit and read for a while, waiting for my food to go down, before I head to the bathroom. I've never been truly clean before, always covered with a layer of grime from living near the factories, and the idea of a bath appeals to me. I fill a bath with hot water, adding various oils which fill the bath with bubbles and the air with fragrance. I climb in, and revel in the feeling of being warn and clean.

Eventually I climb out, and dry myself on the luxuriously thick towels, which are thousands of times better than the old cloths at home, and let a blast of hot air dry my hair. I put on a thick robe, and lie on my bed, feeling cleaner than I ever have.

At what I deem to be nearly dinnertime, I look through the chest and find a dress, in pure white, which is much more beautiful than the dress I arrived in, and put it on. There is a quiet knock on the door, and I open it to find a servant, waiting to take me to dinner. I follow her down the corridor and back into the dining carriage. Jae and Oliver are already there; so I take my seat at the table.

The food is even more magnificent than at lunch. First there is another soup, a clear chicken broth this time, with shredded pancake in it. Then there's the salad with the small sprouted beans, then the main course which was some kind of poultry, but with a much stronger flavour than I was expecting, served with tiny boiled potatoes and miniature vegetables. Then there was the cheese board, with about a hundred different kinds of cheese, and finally, a huge bowl of fresh fruit covered with ice cream and sauces. Oliver and I had never seen half of the things that were served, and kept asking what they were. Jae didn't seem to mind; he was probably used to it due to escorting hundreds of tributes.

The food leaves me feeling very sleepy, and I'm fighting to keep back yawns by the time we are finished. But afterwards we have to watch the recaps of the reapings, to see who our competition will be. Face after face flashes across the screen, each one blurring into the next, and only a few of them stand out in my mind. There was the classically beautiful pair from one, a gorgeously handsome boy from two, a truly stunning girl from five, then all of the weaklings, concluding with two poor kids from district twelve who looked like they'd never seen soap in their lives. They probably hadn't, much like me before I got on the train.

It was slowly becoming more and more real to me. I just watched twenty four people being chosen at the reapings. Only one would survive the brutal games, only one person could come out of this thing alive. And that one person certainly wouldn't be me.

I excused myself as quickly as I could, and hurried back to my cabin. Throwing a nightgown on, I fell back into my bed and stared at the ceiling. In a few weeks I would be dead. The thought chilled me to the bone. I thought of my family, standing in the streets at home, being forced to watch me die on the screens in full colour.

Turning my head into my pillow, I cried. I cried for my family left behind in district eight, for the others who would be dying with me, for the awful atrocities committed by the Capitol, and for the fate that I knew awaited me in the arena. I cried until the train rocked me into oblivion, and pulled me closer to my death.


	5. Chapter 4

I wake up the next morning with sunlight streaming through the windows. I have overslept, for the first time in my memory. I hurriedly rush over to the chest of drawers and search for something to wear. I pull out a pair of soft black trousers and a loose grey top. It doesn't really matter what I wear; we will be arriving in the Capitol soon, and then I will be left in the hands of my stylist to prepare me for the opening ceremony tonight.

I hurry through to the dining carriage, and Oliver and Jae are already there, sat in front of huge platters of food. I take my place and my own platter is quickly placed in front of me. Eggs, fried potatoes, what I presume is bacon – I've only seen it raw in the butchers before – piles of fruit, mounds of rolls. This is my third meal in the Capitol style, but I am still astounded by the amount of food that is given to me.

Beside the food is a line of drinks. A glass of orange juice sits beside two mugs. One is filled with a very dark brown drink, the other is paler, and looks creamy. I open my mouth to ask what they are, but Jae sees my confusion. He must be getting used to it by now. "The darker one's coffee, the lighter's hot chocolate."

Chocolate. I had seen it in shop windows (posh shops, the sort I never went in) but I never thought I would actually get to try some. I sip at it tentatively. It's delicious. The coffee is bitter, but the flavours complement each other, so I pour both drinks into one mug and drink it, ignoring Oliver and Jae's bemused looks. Then I attack the food, eating as much as I can hold down; I may as well enjoy my last meals, and I might put on some weight before the games.

Half way through the meal the train goes dark, and all of the inside lights come on. We're going through the tunnel to reach the capitol. It's quite eerie. I hate being in the dark; it reminds me of being at home. But in a few minutes it is light again and we get our first glimpse of the capitol.

After we've finished eating we move to the window and watch the crowds of people waving to us. The Capitol looks just as it does on the screens at home, with its garish colours and strange people. They stare at the train, curiosity in their eyes. The train has slowed down now, so that people can see us properly. They're staring at me, and it makes me slightly sick, but I wave back. Not that anyone will remember me of course, but it's nice to hope.

The train shudders to a halt. We have arrived. Quickly we are ushered off the train, and across the street, where more people have gathered. Camera lights flashed all around me, temporarily blinding me again. I try to wave to the cameras, smiling as widely as I can. I'm behaving like a career tribute, but maybe it will help me to survive longer. Thankfully we quickly enter a building where we walk through a maze of corridors, and I'm sure we're just getting lost, until we come to a door with the number 8 on it. Beyond that are two more doors, and Oliver and I are shoved through separate doors, which clang shut behind us.

My first impression is white. Everything in this room is white, rom the walls, to the floor, even to the bathtub in the corner. There are three people in front of me, and I survey them curiously, knowing they must be my prep team. One of the women wobbles forward in impossibly high neon pink shoes, and pushes her bright pink hair out of her eyes. She is a violent contrast to the blank room, and it's making my eyes hurt. "Hiya!" she squeaks in the ridiculous capitol accent. "I'm Tonya, and this is Estelle and Tymon." She points to another woman and a man. I presume the woman is Estelle; she has silver stars tattooed across every patch of skin, and she's coloured her hair silver. She smiles at me, and I do my best to smile back. Tymon is very pale, practically white, and his eyes are red. When he smiles at me I notice two of his teeth are larger and pointier than the others. The word vampire springs to mind, and I curse the scary stories that other children told at school.

I step forwards bravely, unsure of what is going to happen next.

*o*

Several hours later, and I'm _still_ in the remake centre, as they call it. I had been bathed in various potions, several layers of my skin have been removed, I had every single hair on my body pulled off or plucked, and am standing here with every inch of my body hurting. I have now decided that my prep team are actually a band of torturers, designed to make me insane before the games begin, when they finally leave, to call in my stylist. Grabbing a paper robe off the table, I hug it to myself gratefully, thankful for the scrap of modesty I have regained.

Then my stylist walks in, and the little bit of happiness I found in the paper robe suddenly vanishes, leaving me feeling cold. He is everything I have been dreading. The stylists always look ridiculous, so altered that they sometimes don't look quite human. My stylist has multi-coloured hair, which is styled into spikes, and hundreds of images drawn on his arms. The images were skulls, and demons, and every one of them was done in a different colour. I immediately named him 'the rainbow of death.'

"Hi girl!" He has the same squeaky Capitol voice as the prep team. "I'm Levi, and I'm gonna be your stylist!" _'Like I hadn't already worked that out,' _I thought sarcastically. "Now why don't we go get somethin' to eat, and I'll tell you 'bout your costume!" I sighed inwardly. What wouldn't I give for one person who spoke normally?

I revive a bit over lunch, which is a thick pink soup, which turns out to be made of raspberries, then a fish fillet with rice and shredded vegetables, followed by a doughy something Levi calls Waffle, covered in fresh fruit and syrup. After we have finished eating Levi begins to talk.

"Right, so we had to think of a costume that would reflect your district." I know all of this. Tonight will be the opening ceremony, in which the tributes have to ride around in chariots that reflect their districts, and every tribute wears something that reflects the industry of their district. District eight is Textiles, so our stylists have a pretty easy job. Just stick us in something that looks nice and away we go. The people of the Capitol normally love our costumes, forgetting we come from one of the poorest districts, and cheer for us loudly. I hate their hypocrisy. They seem to forget that most of us will be dead in a couple of weeks.

Levi pulls me into another room, and I see a tight pink dress hung on a rail. It is pulled over my head, but before I can get a good look at it I am thrust into a chair, and ordered to stay still. The prep team are back; Tonya and Tymon braid my hair, while Estelle does my makeup and paints my nails. Pale pink eye shadow, blusher, and lip-gloss are applied, and my nails are painted a darker shade of pink. Finally I am allowed to stand, but there are more layers of the dress to go on, very thin floaty layers of fabric. My prep team then excitedly show me a full length mirror.

There is a girl in the mirror who looks almost like me. She has my face, but she is covered in makeup, not too much, but a small amount to bring out her beauty. Her hair is like mine, but cleaner, and braided with strips of fabric in hundreds of shades of pink. And her dress is so beautiful I can hardly look at it.

The dark pink underdress is covered with layer upon layer of pink fabric, which is tight to her chest, then fans out at her waist. In the chariot it will fly out behind in the wind. She looks like a princess, and I can't believe that she is me.

"It's beautiful," I whisper, and my prep team practically scream in excitement. They are fickle and shallow, but I find myself caught up in their excitement over my dress. Then I'm pulled away from the mirror, and taken down to the chariots.

*o*

The bottom of the remake centre is a stable, which we will ride out of in our chariots. The chariot reflects the district too; ours is coated in a golden fabric. It doesn't look as if it will hold my weight alone, let alone Oliver as well. Images of our chariot collapsing, crashing into something instantly fill my mind, but I firmly push those thoughts away. I've never seen a chariot crash before, so why would I be the unlucky one?

We're early. I'm the only tribute down there. I sit on the chariot and wait. My thoughts drift. I wonder what my family will think when they see me. I know my father won't care, unless he's missing someone doing the chores. But my Mother and Tom, I wonder how they'll feel. Will they be worried for me?

I stay there for a while longer, wondering about the chariot rides. Eventually I get bored of sitting though, and wander round looking at the different chariots. District twelve has jet black horses and a jet black chariot. District eleven has shaggy plough horses. District five's horses are pure white. I have just reached district two's – simple grey horses, when a hand touches my shoulder.

I spin around. Behind me is the gorgeous boy from two, and he looks even better in real life. He's tall, a lot taller than me, with dark brown hair, and green eyes, which are currently staring at me.  
"You're district eight, aren't you?"

He remembers me? I suppose it makes sense; I'm the youngest in the competition. He probably thinks I am going to be easy to take out.  
"Yes, you're from two, aren't you?"

"That's me. Ashton Xenos Winchester." He winks. "Call me Ash. And who might you be?"  
"Betony," I'm sure I sound breathless. "Betony Hughes."  
"Unusual name," he comments. "What's it mean?"

"It's a plant. Purple flowers, has medicinal properties." I reel off. People ask me that all the time.  
"Is that so?" Surprisingly his voice isn't mocking. "Well, it looks like we have to get into our Chariots now." I look around, and see that almost everyone else has arrived. He winks at me again. "See you around, Flower-girl."  
I rush back to my Chariot, hoping he didn't see me blush.

Oliver is waiting by our chariot. He's wearing black trousers and a pink shirt, with a cape of the same floaty material as my dress. He looks at me oddly. "Where've you been?"  
I try desperately not to blush again. "I arrived early, so I went for a walk around."  
He stares at me again, but says nothing else, probably because I'm glaring at him.

I scan the room. Almost everyone is here, all except for the girl from district five. What is her stylist playing at? She's going to miss the ceremony if they aren't careful.

The lift pings open and she walks out. Everyone's mouths gape open. She is every guys dream girl. She's tall and curvy, with full, pouting lips. Her hair is long and curled loosely and her eyes are bright green. Eyes follow her everywhere she goes, some gawping, and some enviously plotting.

Her stylist has obviously anticipated her impact; she's wearing a tight white top, which seems like a second skin, the shortest white mini skirt, well, it could barely be classed as a skirt, and a white lab coat, which has been cut so that it stays open. She hurries over to her chariot and jumps in, glaring at every guy who looks at her. I notice Ash watching her walk across the room, and feel a twinge of something, but there is no time to think about that, as the gates are opening, and suddenly we can hear the roar of the crowds outside. The ceremony has begun.

I stand in our chariot and clutch the rail inside as we trundle forwards. The chariots in front of us are disappearing far too quickly for my liking, and we are getting closer and closer to the entrance. District seven's chariot wheels out – it's made of wood, with brown horses pulling it, reflecting the lumber trade – and we are suddenly at the front of the line. I fix a smile onto my face and prepare for the worst.

But as we roll out all of my emotions – _fearworryexcitementterror – _melt away and are replaced with a surge of energy. I smile – _actually smile_ – and wave to the crowds of people. They are screaming for us, for me, _DISTRICT EIGHT! DISTRICT EIGHT! _And I can understand now why the tributes always smile – properly smile – it's this rush of absolute amazingness as you hear the screams _DISTRICT EIGHT! DISTRICT EIGHT! _And even though district nine has already pulled out, they're still screaming for us _DISTRICT EIGHT! DISTRICT EIGHT! _And I'm laughing, because it's just so unbelievably amazing that they're cheering for me. _DISTRICT EIGHT! DISTRICT EIGHT!_

We reach the City Circle, and the chariots spread out in front of the president's mansion, and I'm still smiling even though they are reading out the always despicable speech of welcome, and the crowds are cheering us to our deaths, but I don't care, because their excitement is infectious, and I'm caught up in the moment.

We begin moving, and the people begin cheering again, a solid roar this time, and the pounding music thrums in my blood, and keeps time with my pounding heart. I never want this moment to end, this is the best experience of my life.

I feel something like regret as we pull back into the stables, and bizarrely wish that we could do it again.

I climb off the chariot in a daze, still hearing the music and cheering from outside. I don't realise what's going on or where I'm going until I stumble, and crash into the lifts. Someone catches me before I fall, and I snap back into reality as I realise that it's Ash.  
"You okay?" He sounded concerned. I nodded, still slightly dazed, worrying that if I opened my mouth I would say something stupid. I'm sure I'm blushing again, and try to tell myself it's because of the chariot ride. I'm not convinced though.

He guides me into the lift as it opens, and it is only us getting in as it begins the ascent. He keeps his hand on my back as the lift rises. It pings when we get to level two, but he stands in the frame, not letting the door close.  
"Sure you're going to get up to your level?" His voice is light, mocking, but not mean.  
"I might manage it," I return happily.  
"Guess I'll see you in training tomorrow then Flower-girl," he says, stepping out. The lift doors snap shut, and I travel up to level eight alone, with a smile on my face.


	6. Chapter 5

**Hello Everyone! Sorry about the wait, I decided to rewrite this story. Not majorly, but i advise you to go back and reread it. You'll probably need to anyway, due to the long time it's been since i updated. SO GO BACK AND READ IT ALL! I hope you enjoy the new and improved The Forgotten Rebellion!**

When I reach the eighth floor the lift pings open. I wander along a vast corridor until I find a door that reads _Betony, _like the one on the train_. _I push the door open, and step inside.

It's even bigger than the one on the train. It doesn't even count as a room to me; it's more like a house, a house that's bigger than anything I've ever seen. The bed is huge, and I have a desk, and a chair. There is an absolutely huge wardrobe, a chest of drawers and leading off the room is a shower room. The thing that grabbed me the most was the amount of buttons.

There are buttons on everything. There are hundreds of buttons for the lights alone, and then over at the window there are buttons for various settings, and views. The wardrobe can be programmed to choose an outfit for me that I like, and the bathroom is so full of buttons, that I am surprised the whole room doesn't explode. I make a vow to press every single button by the time I leave for the arena. At least there will be something to keep me occupied.

However, this wasn't going to be as easy as I though. I decide to have a shower to wash the make-up off, and stand in the cubicle for about five minutes before I work out which button I am supposed to press. Of course, the button I press sends a jet of freezing cold water at me and I shriek, blindly reaching out for another button, which makes scalding hot water hit my head. I jump out of the shower, dripping wet and in pain, and eventually after fiddling with all of the temperature buttons manage to get it to a reasonable temperature. I gingerly climb back in. Once it is at a normal temperature the shower is actually quite pleasant. It's sort of like standing in the rain, and is certainly a lot more pleasant than the bucket of water from the stream that we used back at home. Experimenting cautiously with the other buttons on the wall, I end up covered in hundreds of colours of foam, some of which wash off, and some that have to be scraped off. Something is squirted onto my head, and I jump violently, as mechanical arms shoot out of the wall to rub it into my hair. After I have finished in the shower I stand on the mat outside the cubicle and let a set of heaters dry me. Curiously, I place my hand on a box, only to find that my hair dries instantly, each strand floating individually down around my shoulders.

I go back into the bedroom and pull a set of thick pyjamas out of the chest of drawers. Snuggling down into the huge bed, I wonder what tomorrow will bring. Training and tributes and Ash. Suddenly being in the Capitol doesn't seem like such a bad thing. Turning over, I drift off to sleep with a small smile on my face.

* * *

The morning sunlight hits my face, and I turn over, not wanting to get up yet. It's only as I roll over and don't fall onto the floor that I realise where I am. I am in the tribute centre, and today is the first day of training. Despondently I drag myself out of bed and over to the wardrobe. The doors swing open silently, and a mechanical arm shoots out, handing me a pair of black leggings, a white skirt and a top. Blinking in surprise I realise that although I programmed it to give me an outfit I like, I have never worn anything like what I am holding now.  
Another arm shoots out, this time with a note, "Wear this today darling, love Levi x" I notice that I subconsciously read it in his capitol accent. I look at the outfit doubtfully, before putting it on.

Despite the fact that it looks incredibly impractical, the outfit is surprisingly comfortable and easy to move around in. This would definitely be an advantage in training, and I make a mental note to stop being so hard on my stylist. It's not his fault that he looks like a rainbow of death. Well actually it is; he chose to have those awful tattoos.

Deciding that it is now late enough for breakfast, and that I am as ready as I'll ever be, I walk to breakfast. Jae is already there, along with two people I don't recognise. "Hiya Bette!" he calls. I hate it when people try to shorten my name. "This is Jack from district ten, and Chloe from district five. Chloe's gonna be your mentor, cause there aren't any district eight victors." I look at the two. Jack seems friendly enough, but Chloe, the woman who is going to be my mentor, is looking at me with barely concealed distaste. Her hair is drawn back into a severe pony tail, and her icy eyes are fixed on me. She obviously doesn't want to be here, and I wonder why she has been picked as my mentor. I highly doubt she volunteered. I quickly go over to the table and helped myself to breakfast, not tasting what I was eating for the first time since I stepped on the train, suddenly dreading the day. Oliver strolls in and starts eating with me, not seeming to notice the glares from Chloe. When we finish Jae checks the time. "Right, it is 9:30 now, and training starts at 10, so how about twenty minutes chat with your new mentors before you head down?" Oliver nods enthusiastically and walks out with Jack, leaving me to follow Chloe out of another door.

She leads me to a room I haven't seen before – a mainly plain room with only a few chairs around a table. She surveys me for a moment after we sit down. "Listen Kid, to be honest I don't want you to win." _'Well, at least she is telling the truth,' _I think to myself. "It should be obvious; I want one of our kids to win, Megan or Caelan." So those are their names. I remember Megan, the devastatingly beautiful girl, but I can't place Caelan. I'll look for him at the training sessions later. "And even if I did want you to win, you're a twelve year old girl. You don't really stand a chance." At this she looks vaguely sorry for me, which isn't much of a comfort. She just told me something I already knew. I am going to die. "I will give you some advice though," she continues. "Go out there today and try everything, and I mean everything. Over the next couple of days try everything. Then on the third day, practise the stuff that you're good at. Got it kid?"

I nod. What she said makes a lot of sense. "Okay then kid, you'd better go."

I walk out of the room, and over to the lift where Oliver is waiting for me. We get in silently, and went down to meet the other competitors. I can't puzzle Oliver out. He seems like a nice enough guy; and yet he has barely said a word to me since we arrived here. I know we're supposed to be enemies, but it would be nice to have someone to talk to from home.

The lift doors slide open to reveal a huge hall filled with different weapons and obstacles. Around half of the other competitors are already here, with numbers pinned onto their backs. I feel someone pinning what I presume is a number eight onto my back. The woman standing in the middle of the room is tall and lean, and looks quite menacing. She tells us her name was Serena, and that she is the head trainer.

Eventually everyone arrives. The girl from five –Megan– is one of the last to arrive again, she slides in complaining about her stylist, and I can definitely see why. They had picked out the most stupid dress in unyielding fabric that looks like it's going to be impossible to move in.

"Alright," Serena calls. "Right, today is your first day of training. Try anything you want to, but don't fight another tribute. There are people on hand if you want to practise. Go on then!" We all walk off in different directions.

The careers quickly run over to the weapons, trying to intimidate everyone else with their superior strength. I watch Ash throwing spears out of the corner of my eye. He's very good. The others were trying the weapons for the first time. Deciding to save the weapons for later, when the novelty of them had worn off for the others, I walk over to the survival skills side of the gym. There's an edible plants stand, and I wander over, curious to see if I would learn anything. To my surprise I know every plant on the table. The person running the stand starts talking to me about the various plants, and is surprised when I can identify all of them. I don't know their names, but I know if they're safe to eat. I suppose most people don't have to try and work out what's safe to eat so they don't starve. I reached the last one, a bunch of small purple flowers. "And that's Betony," I laughed. "It's completely edible, and quite good for various illnesses. Obviously I know about that one."

The trainer brings out some more plants that I haven't seen before begins to explain them, and shows me how to make them into a simple salad. I practise it on the new leaves, making note of their shapes and textures in case I need them in the arena. I am so engrossed in my work that I don't notice someone standing next to me. "Well, well, should have known I'd find you here Flower-girl. You were bound to be good with plants."

I look up to see Ash leaning against the stand lazily. "Well, we can't all be weapons experts," I retort.  
Ash laughs. "Well I have been training for years."  
"Well that's illegal," I mutter angrily. It's so unfair that the careers get such an advantage over us.  
"That's just the way it is Flower-girl," he drawls.  
For some reason the name is starting to get on my nerves. "Stop calling me that!" I snap. "I have a name so use it!"

He stares at me. "Sorry," he says, twirling a piece of root I've just shredded in his hands. "What's wrong with you today?"  
"What's wrong with me is that I do not want to be here, I have no chance, and you are being so condescending!" He shrugs, and goes to eat the root. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," I say sweetly. He looks up, confused by my change of tone. "Well, that's hemlock, and that would probably paralyse and kill you." He freezes and drops the plant, staring at me. I smile at him, and lean towards him. "I don't need weapons to kill you," I continued in the same quiet innocent voice, and walk away, knowing I have left him speechless, which is immensely satisfying. I should never have thought of him as anything other than a slimy career.

I wander over to the nearest stand, which happens to be a knot-tying stand. The trainer teaches me a basic snare to catch rabbits, and I quickly pick it up. I also learn a snare to hang out of a tree to catch birds, and how to form a net to catch fish. With all of these skills I should be able to find food in any terrain. I also learn a snare for humans, that leaves them dangling upside down from a tree. There's a fake tree to practise with, and I'm suddenly wishing that Ash would walk by, so that he'd end up upside down. Now that would be funny.

I don't see why they teach us hammock building – surely if there are trees to hang it from then it would be safer to sleep in a tree? But I dutifully learn how to tie one out of rope. It may come in handy one day.

After that a gong sounds to signal the lunch break. Everyone files over to the food hatch, with the careers barging everyone else out of the way. We each get a plate of steaming stew and rice, a glass of orange juice and a bowl of some bright pink gooey stuff which looks truly bizarre. The careers all sit at one big table, but everyone else sits alone, looking uncomfortable. I choose a table and sit down, eating my food alone. Everyone's eyes are on the career table, where they are laughing and joking very loudly. I notice Ash turning and winking at Megan, indicating that she should sit with them, and suddenly the delicious Capitol food doesn't seem so appetising. "Slimy arrogant git," I mutter to myself as I push the pink stuff around the bowl. I still haven't worked out what it is yet, it's like nothing I've ever tasted before.

I take my plate back over to the hatch, and wait for lunch to be over. I'm fist back into the training grounds and head straight for the weapons. I want to get some practise in before everyone else gets here. The careers are still cleaning their plates and talking. I head for the archery station, knowing that if I'm going to fight anyone, it's going to be long range. I'm too small for hand-to-hand combat.

I select a bow and a quiver of arrows and line up in front of the targets. My first shot doesn't even hit the target, nor does my second, but my third hits the edge, and with a bit of practise I can nearly hit the middle. One of my shots hits the edge of the bull's-eye and I stand back, pleased.

"Nice Shot," someone comments.

I spin around to find Megan stood beside me, holding her own bow and arrow.  
"Thanks," I reply. She turns and shoots her own target, and the arrow lands almost directly in the centre. "Same to you."

She looks pleased. "I've only been able to do things where you stand still all day, because of this ridiculous dress." She tugs at it frustratedly. "My stylist is so stupid."

"Why don't you wear something else?" I suggest. She looks at me curiously. "I mean, can you take another outfit out of the wardrobe? Or if not, there are clothes in the drawers. There isn't a great selection, but I'm sure you can find something more practical than that."  
Megan smiles at me gratefully. "Thanks, I didn't think of that. I was in a hurry this morning, and didn't realise how awkward this thing was until later."

We stare at each other for a moment, before turning back to the targets and practising shooting again. I'm slowly getting better – I haven't missed the target again, and my shots are steadily moving inwards.

After a while I put my bow down, knowing I'm not going to get any better at it. I'm alright with a bow, and I could probably wound someone, but I'll never be great at it. Megan puts down her bow too, and turns to me. "Should we go try something else?" she asks tentatively.  
I smile. "Why not?"

We head back over to the survival section, as the careers have taken over the weapons section again. There's a stand for making fishing equipment, and we head over, thinking it may be useful for getting food. I can already make a fairly decent fishing net, but I don't tell Megan this. She seems nice enough now, but in the arena we will be enemies. I can't afford to forget that.

Partway through the afternoon the doors open, and the game makers walk in. They watch all of us training for a while, and then walk around to speak to the trainers about us. I look up and see one of them looking at me, and I have to fight the urge to glare back. I hate them so much, with their emotionless faces and piercing stares. They have no hesitation in sending us to our deaths; we're not people to them, we're more like animals, animals waiting to be slaughtered. It isn't fair.

We move on to another station, and I notice the same game maker that was staring at me earlier walk over to the fish hooks stand and talk to the trainer, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on me. His stare is unnerving, and I quickly turn away. Why does it feel like he's focussing on me personally? He's probably thinking I'll be one of the first to die, that I will be easy to pick off. I wasn't bad at making fish hooks, and I've been pretty mediocre at everything except the plants at the moment. A fire sparks to life under my hands and I grin. Maybe I'm not quite so ordinary.

* * *

Eventually the training day draws to a close, and we are sent back to our floors. I step into a lift, and notice that Ash is heading towards me. I jab the number eight button repeatedly, until the doors slide shut, beginning the slow smooth journey to my room.

When I reach my level Chloe is waiting for me. I stifle a groan, and follow her to the room we were in earlier. "Well?" she demands. "How did your day go?"  
"It went fine. I'm good at edible plants and making fires, and I'm pretty good at snares, making fish hooks and archery."  
She curls her lip. "Not much work on weapons then."  
I try to keep calm. Getting angry at her won't solve my problems. "Well today everyone went straight for the weapons; the careers wanted to intimidate everyone else, and everyone else wanted to practise. Tomorrow people will start to realise that they need other skills to survive, and will head to the survival section, leaving me with the weapons."

Chloe looks at me thoughtfully. "You know, you're actually much more intelligent than I give you credit for."  
"Thanks," I mumble, unsure if it is a compliment or not.  
"Just keep on going as you are," she says dismissively, and I turn away, not wanting to stay any longer.

But something has me turning back. "I talked with Megan today." Chloe freezes. "You know, Megan, the girl from your district? We trained together. She was really nice."  
I don't know what I was expecting her reaction to be, but I wasn't expecting her to turn away, and for her voice to turn cold. "Just remember not to form any attachments. You're going to be enemies in the arena."

Part of me feels insulted at her advice. Of course I know we'll be enemies! But the other part of my mind wanders to Ash. Am I too attached to him? Of course not, I reassure myself, I broke that attachment by nearly poisoning him. But still my mind returns to him, his face, his voice, his laugh, his nickname for me…

Why does everything have to be so complicated?


End file.
